Nobody Wins At Home
by Zarius
Summary: The Master is on the rampage, he is in need of someone, 'who' will submit? (tag for 12x02 Spyfall Part Two, spoilers)


**DOCTOR WHO:**

**NOBODY WINS AT HOME**

**WRITTEN BY ZARIUS**

* * *

In the year 1834, an eternal quarrel left a lasting scar on those assembled at the invention exchange.

It wasn't about two great minds, two hearts in each, coming together in some tactical chess game, this was more a macabre play for power at best, and affection at worst.

The hapless bystanders, who come to see the splendours of science on display, were soon subjected to the horrors of far more ungodly practices.

A device held in the grip of a Master reduced those the humanoid beast strolled past to the size of a matchbox, which he would pick up and recklessly discard by throwing them far across the room, their bodies disintegrating into small pockets of blood as they smeared against windows and walls.

"Hands on heads" he demanded, all in the room doing so, silently praying in their heads for the divine to interfere.

But perhaps, because they dared to meddle in practices that some claim affronted God, perhaps no salvation would come.

The man with the power to bestow upon all huddled in the room instantaneous death could be all too easily assessed as being quite unstable, as if he had done more than his fair share already of the merriest of murders, perhaps far too much.

He looked like he was burdened with the blood on his hands, tolerating it only minimally, and blaming everyone else for forcing his hand against them.

Someone was required to lend their ear to him, to submit to his wants.

He needed someone. And someone answered.

"Let them go, then you could have me" The Doctor spoke, offering herself to him freely.

The Master looked upon her grudgingly, not as pleased as he hoped he'd be with her swift surrender.

"I've got you already" replied The Master; he found no satisfaction in taking her prisoner now.

The Doctor figured he was right, by all rights she should have been dead, he was well past caring if she lived. He was more interested in the _hows _and _whys _of her presence.

The Master continued to torment the helpless guests, taking another life with his Tissue Compression Eliminator.

"When I kill them Doctor, it gives me a little buzz, right here in the hearts" he gloated, pointing to two sides of his chest.

"It's like, oh how would I describe it? It's like knowing I'm in the right place doing what I was made for"

The Doctor was now certain this incarnation came after the form known as Missy, his voice carried with it the whiff of an unfortunate epiphany, that he had been working towards a goal and all of a sudden something had convinced him his dark path was the only one that could light his way.

With her instincts heightened, The Doctor pushed through the barriers he was putting up, she looked deep into his soul, not even requiring telepathy to tell what he was seeking, but asking anyway just to keep her curiosity, hoping he could surprise her once again as he had in previous lives where he has made a somewhat decent attempt at a decent living.

"What do you want?" The Doctor asked.

"Kneel" he uttered venomously.

The Doctor looked all around her all were in the grip of fear. At least they were alive, she had to make sure they remained that way. Even if it meant doing as requested.

"Kneel, or everyone will die"

She bent down, and her head rose upwards to meet his, her look was an uneven mix of disappointment and anxious anticipation

"I want you to say my name" he continued.

The Doctor wanted to roll her eyes in only the mildest show of disgust.

These were the sort of games they used to play at the academy as children. He would play the role of a Prydorian Castellan; she would be his dutiful aid.

He always picked the best gowns to appropriate and wear. He always dressed for the occasion.

Not unlike now either.

She couldn't help but feel in the most inappropriate fashion that he did look rather fetching in a top hat.

"Master" she spoke.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, pretending not to have heard her that well the first time.

"Master" she repeated, her voice _considerably _higher.

He pointed her towards his ear.

"Can't hear you love" he insisted.

Inside, she lit up at the crucial word used in that sentence. The word that gave her back what he had took from her, her very hope.

The word was love.

The Doctor locked eyes with his, and this time there was discipline to them, this time she would say it like she meant every word of it, like it meant something more.

"Master" she spoke, much quieter than the second instance, but much more soothingly and resigned, like she expected him to sense when it was time to stop the games, and be themselves again, it was time to go home.

The Master ever so briefly caved in, taking a deep breath as memories of warm golden summers in the Gallifreyan deserts beyond the capital came to the forefront of his mind.

Deserts were all that were left now, but she had yet to discover that, or what he did.

He knew it would soon be time for those not on his side to start losing, even if it looked as if they could still win, even if they did win, the cost was the knowledge to come.

They were exiles, cut off from their society, and he had seen that this was so in a more permanent fashion.

She had played with those she knew from home.

She said his name out of care and favour, fulfilling a key role in a playful game from home, hoping to win the day.

She would soon know better.

Nobody wins at home.


End file.
